


long distance

by leukoplakiaa



Series: until - [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Cigyun is Mentioned Quite a Bit But Doesn't Appear (Obviously), Gen, Midquel, Sick Fic, sick is not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leukoplakiaa/pseuds/leukoplakiaa
Summary: Sometimes, the ailment of the heart hurts the rest of the body, too.Sunilda brushed her thumb behind his ear; she promised no doctor, but if the fever didn't break, she'd risk his wrath. Combing his hair was a task she knew well. One, two, three. He could keep the long hair. It fitted his face. One, two, three.“...I can’t hear her voice,” he quietly led with. Sunilda paused, her fingers hovering above his collar. “It is a stupid hobby of mine. I lay in bed before I fall asleep and before I start the day, thinking about her nonsense stories and all the words of affection she told me, that she told–“ he swallowed, “me. I hear them in her voice. You know her voice.”She...Cigyun’s voice. She knew it, didn’t she?
Series: until - [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926223
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	long distance

A knock on the door.

Sunilda stretched her back, bumping into Azel, and she quickly noticed how much space her bed had. Odd. Lord Arvis did not spend every night in her room, increasingly less the older he got, but the nights he did he stayed till morning, crammed in a chair when he grew bashful. Was there something today she forgot about? She'd hear about it if she did.

Another knock. She kissed Azel's temple, murmuring for him to stay put. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she quickly padded across the floor, cracking the door open. A young face she did not know stared back at her. "The duke requests you in his quarters, immediately." A glance at Azel, and she noticed the dark sky.

Gods, what hour was it? She felt rested. "Of course." Requests. "Will you tell Magda to come wait in mine?"

The girl nodded with a half bow, then turned sharply on her heel. That felt odd.

She shuffled into her house shoes. She tucked Azel in tight, making sure his cloth doll stayed put. Sunilda murmured a few more promises about coming back; he grumbled and turned deep into the sheets. He'd started sleeping in as of late (unlike his brother, who woke anymore at a grown hour), much to her surprise, so she could have an hour to herself between waking the duke and chasing after Azel.

Early, early. Magda probably wasn't even here yet.

What could the boy need now?

Lord Arvis did not sleep in the master bedroom - something an attendant complained about, that he later complained to her over; a master bedroom was whatever room housed the master, wasn't it? - which she was eternally grateful for. Even her fondness for him couldn't get her to step foot in there.

She knew the way to his room well (five sets of forty), eyes half opened. Wake up, wake up, he wouldn't tolerate the sleepiness. His moods were getting shorter, his arms longer. He was the same boy towards her he'd always been.

She knocked on the door out of habit - one, two three - and then opened it. The fire laid dead in the hearth. Unusual. "Lord Arvis?" she asked. "You called?"

"Shut the door," he said, voice raspy. Unusual, unusual. She complied, though, doing so quietly.

"What troubles you, my lord?" Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dark, stepping carefully to relight the fire. Sunilda had gotten better doing it, steadier with the flint than she used to be. Light filled the room. She kept his space clean, so the tipped over table and shattered glass made her stomach twist. "What happened, Arvis?" she asked quietly, searching for his face, but it was hidden.

He sat up in bed, knees pulled to his chest. The splotches of skin she saw were paler than usual. "I got mad."

She nodded slowly. "I can see that. Is that why you left?" He nodded. Sunilda crossed from the hearth to his bed, and the side of his bed without a tipped table had his blanket crumpled on the floor. The smell said enough. "Are you sick, my lord?"

"A little. My stomach is empty."

She sat on the edge of the bed, laying her wrist on the back of his neck. The collar of his nightshirt clung to him, soaked in sweat. "You're burning up, Arvis," she noted, and he was well enough to scoff at her. "You were well last night. I've never seen you sick."

He shrugged. "Not since before Mother left," he admitted. 

Sunilda hummed. "I'm going to fetch the doct-"

His hand gripped her dress tightly. "No!" His head lifted; the whites of his eyes were red too, and the corners of his eyes did not have tears.

"You're ill, Arv-"

"No!" he repeated. "No one can see me like this."

"Arv-"

No time for turns, his other hand grabbing as well. His normal strength was gone, so she did not fear him. "No one, Svan, no one." She never grew used to his usage of her nickname of nicknames. "It will only be a reason to take Velthomer, to take Valflame, the Academy-" his voice pitched; it'd been cracking recently.

She shushed him, stuttering as he leaned into her. "Adults get sick, Arvis," she assured, rubbing behind his ear.

Another shake of the head, up on his knees, using her as support. "Svan." If he was stronger right now, she'd worry; if he wasn't stronger right now, she wouldn't worry. He'd never lay a hand on her.

_ Do you like me? _

_ More than most. _

He tugged at the right pieces of her. "Alright, alright. No doctor," she soothed, feeling him sag against her. Sunilda ruffled the wispy hairs that curled around the nape of his neck. She gave him the moment, heart beating solidly in her chest, listening to his breath match hers. They were too close, she knew - a maid and a duke being this close sullied Velthomer before.

A child, she reminded herself. Growing every day, stronger yet, but a child. She wasn't Cigyun. She never wanted to be. He needed someone, and maybe, for then, she could be something to him.

"You trust me, yeah?" Arvis did not say  _ yes  _ but he did not say  _ no _ . She sat up straighter, and there it was, the grumbling as he corrected likewise. So tall, anymore, gazes level. Cigyun sized. "I'm going to fetch you something to fill your stomach, alright? Then I'll clean you and your room.”

His eyes bore some of his normal fury, or tried to, a little too unfocused. "I am ill."

She smiled. "You can still throw up an empty stomach. It's not fun, my lord. Pregnancy showed me that." Time was odd. She never envisioned herself having the strength to meet the duke's vision prolonged.

The beginning of a scowl. "If this is some  _ ploy  _ to go fetch Melon-"

"No doctor," she repeated. "I would never lie to you." How far was too far? He'd tell her. She gently grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands off of her. Fear of the duke did not come from his stature, a normal sized boy, but the way he carried himself and his tome. His hands were smooth, still, as she gave his fingers a squeeze. Her mouth was dry. "I won't be gone long enough for any ploying."

"I will know," he warned, voice low but quivering.

"I know." She worked her jaw. "Get changed while I'm gone, my lord." Maybe it was too close to a command for who they were, if it bothered him she'd hear about it, but he nodded, knuckles brushing as he took his hands back. 

He settled back down, eyes a little more focused. Before she left, he asked for a book off his desk, first by title, then by color. She apologized, he rolled his eyes with the barest of smiles (not Cigyun's, but not Victor's, either - Cigyun's smile), and the door shut heavier than it had before.

Sigh.

No doctor. No one else. She rubbed her eyes. Gods, it was early.

What was she doing?

Down to the kitchen - one, two, three, four. What would he want when sick? Had Cigyun mentioned anything about that? Azel did not eat when sick, but also did not throw up. Stuff him full of bread and porridge and her hope. She knew what he disliked at this point.

The hour was early, but the kitchen was open under one of Telor's lackeys. She asked for frumenty of the savory variety and tea, and it felt so very odd to not be questioned by staff (not that she minded; cooking was not her skill), somewhere above them but not really.

She'd be back for it. The smashed glass on the floor of the lord's room also needed her attention, and she needed to scrounge up spare linens and get the ruined ones to laundry.  _ Where are linens kept? Who's in charge of that? It feels like coming home. _

Sunilda stopped in to see Azel, too, asleep still. She apologized to Magda, who shrugged from her spot in a chair, barely awake herself. She confided about Azel's daily habits, from when he napped to how to get him to eat and where he hid his various toys, and if he asked mother and brother were conspiring about what to get him for his birthday, which she knew would keep him occupied. Keeping mum on why she'd be with the lord all day, she promised reprieve around lunch. Another kiss to his temple; both boys were grumblers, pushing at her.

Blankets: kept in his closet (she knew that - no wonder he thought her trying to  _ ploy  _ him). Somewhere else to put his stomach besides the floor: a borrowed bucket, or a borrowed bowl. Breakfast: cooking. Various messes: broom and pan. Hurry back to Lord Arvis so she could hurry back to Azel, take a nap of her own.

A hassle of running around, but a little more on board than a headless chicken. Despite her years of mothering and adjacent lazing about, she still knew the servants spots. No one thought her any different, just a maid. She dropped the broom off, not speaking to him, but she knew him to be awake, stared at.

The sun filtered through the windows slowly but surely. Velthomer would wake soon - Velthomer. The duke laid sick in bed. The duke did not speak to his kin. If the castle was fine, so were her and Azel, but could the duke disappear for a day? Undoubtedly he had plans in place. Would he tolerate a question? He tolerated much from her, but she did not want to ever push it.

Returning to the kitchen, she balanced the tray of mushy breakfast on the breadth of her forearm. She asked for an empty serving bowl, and while the boy gave her a weird look, he relented, handing one over. Hopefully Lord Arvis was done. She did not do well with throw-up, barely getting through being saddled with her baby.

Carefully, she wove her way back to the lord's bedroom. Don't drop anything, don't bump into anyone, steady on the plains of her feet. Without the lord throwing parties or keeping mass amounts of company, the halls stayed relatively clean, and the maids did things out of habit by this point. Gossip, too, moved past Velthomer's bastard. This week was about whatever girl was marrying the blacksmith.

Somewhat interested, she vowed to come back later. She'd never get out of the habit.

She opened the door - Lord Arvis changed while she was gone, not completely stranded on his bed. Shockingly pliable under the fog of fever, she sat him down in a chair. He leaned into her hand when she checked his temperature again, warm as ever, and she added it to the pile of memories. She touched his chin, tilting it up, and he kept it up when she let go. Good.

"How are you, my lord?"

"How do you think?" He let her press the bowl in his hands, making sure he had the strength to hold it. No scold, no scald.

"Arvis." He leaned back into his chair, almost smiling.

He took a hesitant bite of his breakfast. Good. She turned her attention to his mess while he spoke of little things in his rough voice, of Velthomer and Belhalla's council and _ the family is wrong _ . She crinkled her nose to avoid the smell; he lost most of his stomach in the discarded blanket, which made this easier for her.

How did she come to be here?

The knocked over table was cold. She sat it upright once more, assorted pieces of shattered pottery clattering to the floor; the pattern looked familiar - it’d been a gift when he was...nine, was it?, from another castle. She knew, of course, of his temper and his tight-teethed shouting, but she never heard of it going beyond that. She couldn't ask the duke about it, but she could certainly ask Arvis at some point. The broom fit alongside the softening calluses on her hands.

She cleaned up the shards carefully; Arvis offered to help, but she shrugged him off - if someone needed to be cut, better her than him. Making the bed was easiest - his spare blanket was not nearly as ornate as his usual quilt, duller in color and embroidery. She snapped it across the bed, larger than her own. The sun poked through the curtains, almost in its full morning glory, by the time she was done. Azel would be up soon.

Comfortable. She kicked her shoes off, sitting on the bed. His eyes never left her, and she met them. There was no color in his face, collar of his shirt sticking to his skin already, hair without any height. "Why are you watching me?" she asked.

He looked pained and swallowed. "Why are you watching me?" he echoed.

"I asked first."

"I am duke."

She smiled. "You called me to watch you, didn't you? Out of all the maids in the castle." She knew. Her and Azel and him. No one else. Not until she returned.

He did not crack. "You are not a maid."

Take the moment. She leaned back on her hands, somewhat tired. Early. "What am I?"

"An illiterate girl-woman who is the mother of a Velthomer lord," he said, unflinching, but he broke eye contact first when she laughed. "I've left Velthomer in Oran's hands for the day. Emergencies are to be brought to me. I will be better by tomorrow. Or at least passable come morning."

"And if you aren't?"

His nose scrunched. It was familiar. "Not an option. A day and nothing more."

_ You could see the doctor _ , but she knew where that conversation would go. "Of course, my lord. You were fine last night. I'm sure this is just a fluke." He scratched his jaw. Occasionally a child.

She fell on her back. The lord's bed was softer than hers, not feeling a single stalk of hay. Maybe it was stuffed with feathers. No wonder he started spending more nights in here. He was getting too old to sleep with her anyway, never a child, but leaving his child's body, too big to occasionally use her arm as a pillow. No rumors about it yet, but they'd come. They always did. He'd be grown soon, and she'd have to tell him all the things she'd been putting off.

At least, for all his height, he changed little in the face. Cigyun would know him.

Back into their comfortable silence, she kept herself awake with counts on her silent, sloppy tongue. A few moments wouldn't hurt, and Lord Arvis had no qualms about forcing her awake if he needed something. Not a maid, anymore, but certainly something like a servant; she twisted on her side, tugging her shaw off and using it as half a blanket. Still awake, just resting, lazy mornings with Azel, who she missed already.

Lord Arvis padded about his room, soft on his feet, a habit left from his father, his mother, left from creeping around her room to not disturb Azel, left from being imposing in the way he carried himself, not the way he prowled.

Left. He was left behind.

She'd have to pester the doctor about this constantly dry mouth of hers.

Sandwiched between the state of not asleep and definitely asleep, she drew her feet up. A brief stare, but he did not comment. Learning to tolerate one another, she told herself, as if she and the lord were not years deep into _ you and I and Azel _ , years deep into  _ until she comes back.  _

Gods above.

* * *

She most definitely did not take a nap, a little confused when she blinked and found herself on her stomach, head pounding. One of those naps (the lord got the nicest bed). The heel of her hand pressed into her eye. Her nightshirt (right, she never changed out of it) twisted awkwardly around her legs, and she kicked them out.

Sitting up, a piece of her back cracked. The sun stood higher in the window. It was different waking up without an elbow or knee digging into her, and some nights Azel staked a claim on her chest (how he slept like that she'd never understand, waking up short of breath those nights). Her shoulder popped as she stretched. Someone made a noise in response.

The lord's bed. The lord.

She went to make a comment, going to look at him, but, right, the lord, the sick lord. She sighed, crossing the room to him; he tried to glare. "You weren't suppose to eat all your breakfast," she said softly.

No retort, which was odd in its own right but not right now. They did the song and dance, cleaning him up, eyes shut while he changed out of another sweat-drenched shirt ("It is nothing...odd, Sunilda; I just do not like to bare myself"). “Why don't you lay down?” and, ill, he listened. He did not want the blanket anywhere near him, folded at the foot of the bed. Grabbed his drink, his book, setting them on the table, she intended to sit in the chair, a shift of positions, but his slim fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she stood still.

"I am going to ask something uncouth of you, and I ask you to not think lesser of me for it," the boy needed a drink, more of those sloppy half-rehearsed, half-impulsive words. "We will not speak about it." She'd heard this before, many times, mouth drying. He was growing. He was at that age. He occasionally wore Victor's sneer. His nose was not Cigyun's.

One, two, three- "What do you need, Arvis?" His thumb twitched.

"It is childish. I do not expect you to fulfill it and you are free to leave-"

"Arvis."

Childish. It eased a knot in her. Arvis knew his father's actions. Arvis let her cut him off.

He looked up. She enjoyed the strong chin. "Will you lay with me until I fall asleep?" he asked.

Oh. Blander than expected, never anything to fear. She laughed. "Like we do most nights?" she asked. The oddest thing to be shy about.

"Not without Azel." Somewhat right. Azel spent plenty of months in his cradle. He let go of her wrist, pale cheeks coloring.

She smiled. "Just this once. You're getting too old to sleep with a maid." This time, he didn't argue on  _ maid _ .

She sat on the opposite side of the bed; she wasn't on fire, so she covered her legs with the blanket. Arvis looked at her, always looking, and she shooed him to lie down. "I'm going to sit. I don't want to disturb you when I go to check on Azel."

She waited, because she knew how to wait. This wasn't their relationship in the daylight, always maid and duke before dinner, always not whatever they'd become. He laid down, fidgeted for a moment, and after a few minutes, laid his head on her thigh, somewhat tense about the whole thing.

She froze. Sharing a bed with Cigyun and getting her dress, briefly touching her face, was one thing (the touch of her lashes to her cheek, the smarting grip-marks left on her thighs). They did not...lay together as she and the lord so often did. Azel must've softened her. The sound of Tasha's crying children usually irritated her, but her own crying always bothered them too. Hells, the few times she shared Tasha and Meic's bed during cold nights they didn't touch; the last few years, Velthomer's children were her main company.

Maybe that was the weird part. She needed to check in with Tasha. Would Tasha want to see her? Did she remember her?

Sunilda brushed her thumb behind his ear; she promised no doctor, but if the fever didn't break, she'd risk his wrath. He relaxed. "Just this once," she repeated, and he nodded. 

Combing his hair was a task she knew well. One, two, three. He could keep the long hair. It fitted his face. One, two, three. Sitting up was suppose to make leaving easier. One, two, three.

Arvis did not move much in his sleep, not as much as she teased him for, anyway. Azel was mainly the terror in bed. She thought him slumbering, unmoving, but his fingers tapped against her ankle. It couldn't be that comfortable of a position, with the way his neck craned, but if he wanted it, she wouldn't begrudge him. Just this once.

She adjusted her position, a little stiff in the back.

“...I can’t hear her voice,” he quietly led with. Sunilda paused, her fingers hovering above his collar. “It is a stupid hobby of mine. I lay in bed before I fall asleep and before I start the day, thinking about her nonsense stories and all the words of affection she told me, that she told–“ he swallowed, “me. I hear them in her voice. You know her voice.”

She...Cigyun’s voice. She knew it, didn’t she? Her serene face, her– gods, her voice. What did it sound like? She nodded all the same. “I laid in your bed last night, trying to hear her—do you know that Azel talks in his sleep? it’s quite odd—but I could not. I could not, no matter what I did. It was her face. Just her face.”

Was she expected to speak? He paused as if they were to take turns, but what could she say? She wiped the sweat off his forehead. Again, he leaned into her. 

Cigyun.

“Four years, Svan. I have been duke for four years. I am the  _ known  _ duke of Velthomer. Victor is rotten in the ground. Why is she taking so long to come home?" His voice broke on  _ home _ , face hidden from her, but she knew what he didn't do. He was strong as ever.

She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. More sniffling, and hopefully his stomach was empty. "Sometimes it feels like she lives only in my mind, and now that is slipping."

He slowly splintered and she did her best to hold him together. "To be fair, my lord, you don't allow anyone to speak about her."

"Because they say things that aren't true! I will not have slander. She did not do any of the things the gossips claim," and his voice was not doing well. Sunilda wished she had his confidence. Dear as Cigyun was to her heart, doubt existed in her.

She slipped her fingers down his cheek. Cigyun never told her anything about  _ that _ , and Sunilda admitted to her own denseness, but she wasn't stupid. Cigyun's smile said all it needed to. _ She's quiet, don't worr _ y, and why would her silence be a virtue if nothing was being hid?

Fjalar's flame, what did Cigyun's smile look like? She needed to return soon.

"Are you familiar with the game of flor? It’s an Agustrian card game that got popular when I was a child. Cards equal points and all that. Friends and me picked it up from some mercenaries." He cooled some. His fingers now tapped idly.

"Why must you always change the topic?" A hint of the duke's venom. "You're just as bad as the rest of them."

She shushed him, again, a privilege she slowly realized she had. "I showed it to Cigyun. We'd play it after you went to bed most of the time. We'd bet candied nuts on a game." His hair curled some under his disgusting sheen of sweat, brushing it away from his temple. "Cigyun sadly does not have the face for cards. It's soft. She can't hide her winnings."

One, two, three. Circular circles. "I showed her die, too. I think she likes it more. Die takes no skill. Don't let anyone tell you differently. It's all luck and blessed wrists. Bet nothing on die, 'cause I'm not the gambling type.

"If your father was gone we'd head out to the gardens. She showed me how to walk on my hands, how to be as quiet on her feet as she was, how to step on a branch without breaking it. She'd tie her skirts in a knot between her legs for modesty. There's always been something..." poor with words, doors without locks, "about her."

What else? "She'd talk sweet about you. Nights Velthomer hosted parties she lamented she didn't take you to an inn or something, how they kept you up, but she didn't know if you could sleep outside of the manor at all. That's why we put up with her singing. I won't subject you to mine," curled on her pallet, trying to sleep somewhere between the comfort and the discomfort.

"She showed me braids from her home, back when I had my hair. Thick things that could even make her hair disappear into a single vein,” she tugged careful on his. “She told bad jokes. I wish I could forget the melon joke, whatever a melon is. Very unsweet for her face." Just talk. Just speak. She never spoke this much without interruption. His breath ruffled her nightshirt. "I've stopped telling the jokes, because Azel doesn't need to pick up on them. Boy's weird enough. And thinking 'bout it, I don't think she thought they were bad. That's even worse.

"Whenever your father stole you she'd get out this wooden box full of gifts you gave her. It's hidden under her bed should you be curious. I never thought  _ you'd _ be the type to gift rocks, but she'd speak sickly sweet about a three-year old lordling handing over weeds as flowers. She spoke so, so brightly about you always, so imagine my surprise when I actually met you!"  _ but it was true when I got to know you _ . "I mean, I knew  _ about  _ you of course, but we weren't close." Could she say they were close now? Just this once.

Sunilda sighed. "You know that. You were there. Sorry."

Another check of his temperature. His pulse thrummed steadily, living. "I try to remember her, to better serve her when she returns, but anymore she lives more in my heart than my head, too. I think I've learned my own things to share with her."

Sunilda glanced down; soft shoulders. Half of him was a man grown. Half of him stumbled when Azel tumbled into his legs in mock-hug. "I don't think I'll ever forget her kindness. When I entered her help I'd been so nervous, you know, 'cause I've never really been much. And I still don't think I really know anything about her, but she was so inviting, made me feel at ease. I spilled her breakfast during the first month all o'er me and she just laughed and sent me to get a bath, and I don't know, I don't, but she's something. It’s her heart in you that keeps us here." She laughed a little. "That was poor."

No reprimand, no correction. One moment, two moments. Her hand left his cheek, and without the support his head rolled awkwardly; most nights Arvis made a point of staying up past her, so she took a moment to spy his relaxed features. Careful, careful, she moved from beneath him, and sitting free of him, she noticed the semi-odd twisted position he'd adopted. Heat radiated from him, different than usual; if it didn't break by nights' fall she'd deal with his wrath. "I'm leaving but I'm not gone," she promised, "I need to make sure Azel hasn't burnt down half the castle."

* * *

And change out of her night clothes. She changed first, freshly pressed dress falling past her knees but not making it to her ankles. One of Azel's sets of blocks was missing. Hopefully Magda could keep up. No shame in being old, but Sunilda barely managed to keep up with the boy. Good, well-behaved, but  _ active _ , so very active.

It only took three servants to point her towards the lordling. Squirrelled away in a green space, Magda sat on the ground, and Azel dangled out of a tree. "Are you stuck again?" she asked. She helped Magda stand, woman complaining about her knees.

There was not a lot of time for dialogue, but Azel was, in fact, not stuck. His arms wrapped around her waist from the side, face pressed into her. "Momma!" He was getting taller, but she had the unfortunate feeling he'd be on the shorter side for quite some time. She ran her hand through his messy hair, and resolved to give him a whole slew of embarrassing kisses later.

"Hi, sweetie," she doubted he'd ever be too big to be carried, lifting him with ease (mostly). He stared at her for a moment, as if she were stranger, and then touched her cheek with all the tact a four-year old could muster. "What?"

"My birthday's not for a while."

"Soon enough."

"What'cha- what are you and brother talking about?"

She tutted. "If I spoil the surprise...Lord Arvis won't be happy." His brow furrowed in a way far too close to their lord, but his smooth face gave off none of the aura. "Five years is a long time, Azel. A special time." A staring contest, but once more, his face did not have the hard edge his brother's did.

Azel broke first and giggled. "Okay. What are we getting brother?"

"Getting brother? Your birthday hasn't even happened."

"A birthday's a birthday." Today, she saw herself in him, somewhat. The way his nose sat on his face was hers, she realized, and could not help but smile (a selfish part of her thought that it mirrored his). A long five years of only seeing the father, rarely the mother. "And brother's leaving."

She tutted. "He's not gone yet. No more birthday talk. That's all far away."

His fingers drummed on her shoulder. "If it's far away, why spend all morning talking 'bout it?" 

Sunilda bit her cheek. "Adult reasons."

"Boring."

"Maybe so." He kissed her cheek, something bright in his eyes, such a bright spot, and then wiggled out of her hold. She was here to play with him now, and play she knew they would. "Thank you again, Magda. I hope he hasn't been trouble." She glanced at him, again, always looking, full in the cheeks. Her heart needed to calm down.

Magda confirmed what she knew - Azel was better than good - and they said their goodbyes. Azel stole her by the hand. “Come on. I wanna go get something.”

“Want to,” she corrected, and he huffed.

“Not you too!” Two against one. A mean world to be in.

* * *

“It’s not like brother to stay in his room all day.” Azel’s feet did not reach the floor. The back corner of the library was home to a brilliant patch of spring sunlight that made it through the window, lightening his hair several shades. He could not read the book he so lovingly pulled from the shelves, or not well, but it was complete with drawings. He was rough yet on his duchies. 

“You know how busy he is. Do you promise to stay put?” She wasn’t the biggest fan of tucking Azel away like this, hidden from others in a quiet area, but, well, who else would watch him? The day ticked on; she’d little purpose besides rearing him.

“Why can’t I come?” Their lord made that clear.

“And spoil your surprise?” He pouted, eyes barely making it over the rim of his book. It covered his chest, balanced on his thighs. Between the two of them, he could put his shoes on the furniture. “I’m taking the lord a meal, my heart. Nothing fun. I’ll be back before you realize it, and then we can go take a nap.”

“I’m too old for a nap.”

“Well, I’m not. You can keep your mother company, can’t you?”

“...yeah.” She pushed his book down, kissing his forehead. “You guys are al’ays doing stuff without me.”

Never entirely wrong. Was it foolish to think her boy gifted by Fjalar herself? Perhaps, but he was so much more than her. “And we do things without your brother. Most of the day, in fact.” His breath slipped out in a short huff.

“Secrets are bad.”

“We have them.” She lowered herself in front of the chair. Foolish to think him blessed, but even more foolish to think she could ever bare herself before him. One of her lords, perhaps, but her boy first.  _ Lord Azel  _ was best left for other tongues. “Do you truly think us cruel enough to keep anything important from you?”

“No,” he quickly admitted. His foot thumped against the chair. “Okay. Hurry back, Momma.” She kissed his forehead again, or tried to; he ducked away from her this time, shielding his face. Time spent kissing him wasn’t time spent with his brother, which meant it wasn’t time getting back to him. So demanding in all his little ways. Good.

Sunilda slipped down to the kitchen, balancing a light meal once more on the breadth of her forearm. Her servitude bounced from the duchess to the not-so little duke; would she be bound to the next duke or to her grandchildren?  _ Grandchildren _ . No sense in thinking that far ahead. Did Azel know what a girl was? Ridiculous.

Thankfully, Lord Arvis was awake, changed into yet another shirt. He would not meet her eyes, undoubtedly over their last interaction; still, he moved over on his bed—because the two of them took so much room—and she sat beside him. Setting his stack of notes down, undoubtedly important judging by the scribbles, he ate. She laid her wrist against his forehead once more to check his temperature, steady; he, of course, glared at her, but she’d be more concerned if he didn’t. It was simple to get his eyes off of her. “Have your lashes always been this long?” she asked, and slip away they did.

They no longer did it, but perhaps in his sickness he would let her scrub his roots. His hair fell flat against his skull like it did after a winter of no baths. Her most recent ailment was pregnancy, nightmarish for a collage of reasons, but feeling clean amongst sickness was never easy.

“Are you well?” she asked.

For a moment, he leaned into her hand; it served as an answer. How often did he feel someone’s touch? They did not touch like they used to, but one of Azel’s hugs were worth a dozen of hers, especially when the lord so rarely reciprocated. “Are you?” His back straightened; the brief meeting of his knee to hers was over.

“I am.”

“And Azel?”

“Well as he ever is.” She pushed an errant bang behind his ear. “We’ll be inside for the remainder of the day, should you need me. Send for me if your lunch haunts you. I’ll get you something special for dinner. You need  _ something _ in your belly.”

Arvis never stayed shy for long. His unfocused red eyes found her once more as she stood up, brows creasing at their ends. He was at the age where the red bump on the side of his nose couldn’t be blamed on sick. Did he mind? She tacked it onto her list of things to look over. “Yes, my lord?”

“...nothing. I will send for you if needed,” he promised. She tapped her knuckle to his temple in what she hoped he took playfully. One rapid blink. “Dinner?”

“Dinner. And I can come annoy you after I put Azel to bed, if you please.”

“It is not an annoyance if it is you,” he stated  _ so _ plainly; she wondered if he’d break hearts as easily as he made hers skip. “Until then.”

* * *

Words meant nothing to her, really. She vaguely knew the scribbles that made her name, shown by the lord, and the ones that comprised the boys. Her name shared an  _ L  _ with Azel, an  _ S  _ and an  _ I _ with their lord. She could copy their names ( _ should there ever be the need _ ) but that was the extent, ultimately.

They were halfway through his book, hidden in a den on a couch. Privacy was preferable,  It was not duchies, as she thought, but the smatterings of stars and fauna found in Grannvale. Azel knew more shapes than her but was not literate, this she knew, so they stared long at drawings. His memory was firm - he knew the plants that called the gardens and Velthomer home; for his sake, she did her best to know them too. He needed someone to talk to, but the names rattled around in her head and rarely settled. 

“Momma?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t wanna do this tomorrow.”

“Me neither.” Sunilda kissed his shoulder.

She wanted her nap. Folded behind him, arm draped over him and down his front, lulled by his holy warmth, she, again, found comfort in a child. Would it ever stop? She promised herself a nap. Azel did not need to join her, need only be with her, but as tired as she was, she felt bad leaving her boy again, forcing her eyes open when they drooped. Their days were only ever the two of them. How could she leave him like she did? 

He held her hand. His bony, evil little knees housed his book, counting the leaves on different plants. Some of the drawings were faded, perhaps a testament that he shouldn’t have been touching it to begin with. (The last time a servant tried to tell him no, it hadn’t gone well, for boy or lord.) Dinner was to be brought to them, the closest she ever got to giving orders, so there was no good reason to leave him. Improper on a few fronts for a lord to dine on a couch, but unless she wanted to suffer herself to manners, that her lady briefly told her of, he could be  _ improper _ for a few more months. Good enough in his own right, able to  _ sit _ , she thought he could manage a tutor early, but he also drove himself to quiet tears in his frequent frustration, leaving him in his home of her ribs. Why make him grow up any faster than he already did?

Her days were simple; he thumbed over to another page. Even with her lady they had been, too plain born for her gifted position, but, maybe, she deserved something simple. Was it wretched to think? She didn’t know.

“Hey.” He squeezed three of her fingers. “What’s this?”

“You know I don’t know.” Seven letters crammed together, a space, four, space, six (with a  _ S _ ). Seventeen mystery letters. Counting was easy. She told herself she’d learn to read before the lord disappeared to school, but so much of her didn’t want to. Who did she have? The lord, Azel (all she lived with), a lady with no address. 

Huffing, he flipped the page again. The drawings were a bit more defined. Was there a date somewhere in the book? She’d little familiarity with them, but it looked older than her. The pamphlets passed around for song crinkled easily, but the ink was firm. “I think we’re stuck.”  _ We _ . So easy.

She peeked past his head. Stuck they were. A butler had read to him once, carefully telling the letters left on a note from his brother, but that was  _ duty _ . Their laziness in the den needn’t be spotted by anyone besides the wrinkle-faced maid who dropped off their dinner, along with an extra plate. She patted his chest, and he sat up. The plw table was too heavy for them to move closer to the couch, so she and her tired bones joined him on the floor. He’d have a life of formality eventually, assuming she didn’t ruin him more than she already had.

Dinner was a meat pie each, a fistful of vegetables, and one of those foreign juices Azel liked so much. What was too much for him? (Some months she got the jams from Edda in pretty little jars, never named with a sender, but it was obvious.)

Eating without complaint, he bit into the soft part of the pie. The kitchen often burnt the edges. “What we doin’ after this?” he asked. “It’s late.”

It was. She ripped her pie in half. “We’ll get you changed and ready for bed and then I have to check on your brother again.” Preferably, he was sleeping away his illness and grieving thoughts, and she could give him a quick drink and avoid their earlier conversation.

His eyes lit up. The only member of their family who could read had been holed up in his room all day. Words now troubled him. Sunilda readied herself to deny him, pastry clogged in her throat. “I can go with you!” Azel decided. “Brother always knows stuff.”

Well, he couldn’t.  _ No one _ . Not a doctor or a butler or their little heart. “Momma’s going after you go to bed,” she told. “I’ll get you all tucked in and sleeping and then come cuddle. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

He looked up. He was kneeling, plate balanced on his thin lap, as he so often unfortunately did, firm and strong. “But my book.” 

“Sweetie-“

His eyes fell, shining with water, and with it, her stomach. She set her bun down, took his plate, wiping her hands off on a corner of her dress and drawing him in for a hug. “Oh, how could I tell you no? Alright. You can come with.” 

“Yay!”…what? They both pulled back to look at each other, his giggle fresh on his tongue. His tears, miraculously, were gone already; she dabbed under his eye with her thumb. Dry. When did her boy develop such a streak? He stuffed a shred of meat in his mouth. “No noes.”

Maybe  _ no _ needed to leave her mouth more. “You don’t tell anyone what you see, okay? He’s a little grumpy today.”

His jaw worked, stuffing another piece of meat in his cheeks. Eating was best. He could do with a little bit of fat. “He’s always grumpy. But okay.”

If he was going to lie, he could’ve cried for a few moments longer. She sat back in her own chair, sticky bun back in her hands. “Be kind to him tonight, if you please, so he’s kind with you.” He nodded. Did she expect rudeness? No, but the lord had his reputation.

“No noes. He’ll read.”

* * *

Lord Arvis gave a no. “Why is he here?” he asked.

Azel didn’t seem to hear him. She pushed his hair back, then stepped away from him. Setting the lord’s dinner down on his nightstand, she took note of another folded shirt off to the side. Laundry was fine. Taking care of him came nearly as easy as taking care of Azel. “He wished to come. Look at him.” Azel was always simple to wrangle, laying her palm against his cheek. He beamed.

Unphased, “I said  _ no one- _ ” Azel, blissfully unaware of their...disagreement, poked his head under the bed. He’d not been in his brother’s room before, he and his little hands kept out of trouble. The lord did not sleep in the master bedroom, but the room was fit for a duke, and nicer than the one they shared. (Not that it was a bad room. It was nicer than anything she’d had before: a bed proper, and not a pallet.)

She knew she could get away with it now, or had known, so she touched  _ his  _ cheek, and wanted to change the flow of conversation. He glared, red and angry, but the bite wasn’t there. Half the red was sick, she was convinced. “He’s your baby brother,” she said carefully, “and he’s lonely. What is he going to steal from you?” 

The lord budged none. She hated it, truthfully. “Have you always been so poor at listening?”

“I find myself distracted when you pout, yes.”

“I do not pout.”

She clicked her tongue, and her hand left his cheek to smooth out the crease in his brow (that, to his credit, Azel wore more often). He gave some—he discolored so rarely that finding the change in his fevered flushed was easy. “Then what is this?” she asked.

His not-pout twisted. “Who gave you permission to touch me?” so shy around his little brother. 

“You did.” 

His mouth parted, undoubtedly for the scold maids flinched from, but Azel hauled himself up onto the mattress beside him. “No bedtime story?” he asked.

Teeth clacking down rang in her ears as his jaw closed. “Did I say that?”

“You said I shouldn’t be here!” Azel rebutted, cracking on  _ here _ . 

A soft child with that full smile of his, he made the crease in Arvis’ brow disappear better than she could. Still unfortunately warm. How wretched could his wrath be? “Where else would you be? Fetch your book.” 

Azel’s smile broke further, and she took her hand back. He leaned over the side of the bed, dragging his bound book up. She kept an eye to make sure he didn’t slip. “He’s hard to say no to,” she commented. “Care for your dinner?”

His nose crinkled. “No. I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“When you’re better.”

“When I’m better.” He reached out, laying a steadying hand on Azel’s back as he started to sit up. “How long have you two been at this?” he asked. 

Azel dropped the book in front of his knees, quick,  _ excited _ to sit beside his brother in something so casual. “A’ile.” They both knew Azel’s words despite his occasional slips. “Momma got sleepy-lazy, so,” he shrugged. “And some of the words are big.” Most things were, compared to him. He grabbed her hand, tugging for her to sit, and the lord gave her permission. Azel fit just between them, looking pleased. This and the fake tears. Spoiled, wretched, unmannered. All her fault. “I did the thing you said to do, but it didn’ help.” 

“Poor boy.” Azel leaned against his arm. She held her breath, but the lord did not push him away. 

“I know! But I knew’d you’d know’d them.”

“Did you now?”

“Mhmm.” He opened the book, digging out the mark. “I was gonna ask you to read but Momma said you’re grouchy.”

For a little boy who complained about not being told secrets, he opened his mouth plenty. She pressed her knee against his. “Don’t glare, my lord. Your face might stick,” she preemptively said.

Arvis gave nothing for a moment, the only sound being Azel’s fingers against the pages. One, two, three. Maybe they both needed to keep their mouths shut. “I am in good enough spirits for you, little brother. Now, which words trouble you?”

_ Little brother.  _ It only made him all the more smug as Azel stuck his tongue out at her, whispering harshly, “Told you so.”

“ _ Hush _ .” Oh, Azel was red now too, folding his legs under him. She knew his flush to not be sick. “Settle in, you monster. Annoy your brother for another hour,” she scolded. He leaned further into the lord, who hiked his shoulders before they drooped. Arvis touched his shoulder to drag his eyes to their task at hand. 

She thought, in recent memory, of when Azel could touch him so openly. Held often as a baby, permitted to hug him on occasion ( _ until he knows better _ ), her little lord got away with some. She took a vague interest once more. Azel gave him one of  _ those _ looks, liked he’d never seen him before and was taking him in for the first time. She elbowed him softly. “I dunno this one, or this one, or-” several words.

Arvis hummed. “Quite a few. We’ll get you right.”

“Your voice is funny.”

“I’m fine.” Azel made her sit even closer to him, squeezed between the two of them, what he knew and what he didn’t. She heard the lord try to scoff, caught in his dry throat, and passed him his drink. 

“Good. I need you.”

Oh. So simple. It warmed her, even, and the further crack of his voice would be a tale for his mother. “Obviously.” He finished half his drink before handing it back. She’d have to leave, wouldn’t she? “Start here.”

(It ended with the lord simply reading to Azel. Their boy stopped responding to any prompted questions, curled against his side, hand home at his mouth. She thought the lord’s temperature better, promising no doctor, doubly so when she came to collect Azel in the morning, cuddled against her shoulder, and found the lord spotless. He met her eyes with no hesitation, the unspoken  _ I told you so _ that did not fit a boy of station. The blessed nature of his blood fixed him, she told herself, just as Cigyun’s memory kept them warm.)

* * *

(Azel did fall sick three mornings later (so it was not Arvis’ heart making him ill)—he crawled his feverish way into her bed and dragged her arm across him. There was no hesitation from him as he claimed her, burrowed into the crevice of her neck. She held him close, and sent for the doctor immediately. He would be  _ fine _ , of course, and an already easy life got simpler.)

**Author's Note:**

> "long distance ii" by tony harrison is the emotional crutch of a lot of the cigyun stuff stored in the drafts; it gets a lot of that "passed but alive" rut (though my mother was already two years dead/dad kept her slippers warming by the gas...though sure that very soon he'd hear her key/scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.) only mentioning it now due to how much it beat me over the head while writing this. not my first time using this poem and i doubt it'll be the last.
> 
> this was the original ending to 'settled' but it was...5.6k words when i took it out of the draft, half finished, and my pacing is bad enough. NOT part three, more like part 2.5, but limitations of ao3. i kept referencing too many things that happened in this in Future Parts and figured it was easier to clean this up than edit the rest out. and, well, sick fic compels me.
> 
> twitter plug here (@leukoplakiaa). thanks for stopping by <3


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